Taken Soul
by Closet Adventuralist
Summary: Slowly coming to understand that she may never escape the dangers of opening the puzzle box, a series of encounters with her personal demon from hell leads her deeper into her own corruption.


**Okay, so I desperately needed to do a palate cleanser after working on my Avengers series for so long. It didn't hurt that I watched like seven of the Hellraiser movies over Halloween. This little diddy is what came out of it. It's not as polished as my other work, but I just thought I would share it.**

Kirsty stood at the crossroads outside of her apartment. She was shivering from the cold and her feet had begun to ache in her high heeled boots. She had bought them on a whim, the soft leather reaching up to her knees and the stiletto heel pushing into the meat of her heel. They were far too expensive, but Trevor's life insurance payout had finally come in and she thought it appropriate to splurge a little. This would be their debut to the world. The Halloween party mandated a costume and though Kirsty had no interest in parading around in skimpy clothes, she made a compromise and wore the boots with her shortest black dress. A tiny pair of slick red devil horns on a headband was the only indication that she was participating in the night's activities and even that was a concession she was loathe to make.

The car pulled up and her friend, Helen, poked her head out of the passenger side window.

"Hope you didn't have to wait long."

Kirsty shook her head, "Just a few minutes."

"Well, hop in," Helen called out. "Time to party."

Kirsty huddled into the car, breathing a sigh in the renewed heat. Helen's husband, Josh, gave her a little wave in welcome. Their mutual friend, Lucas, sat across the seat. His wife had died of cancer two years previous and Helen was hell bent on getting the two of them together.

Lucas smiled genially, "Nice to see you again."

"Likewise," Kirsty murmured.

His smile held, "Nasty weather we're having."

She nodded, "I kind of like the cold, though."

"That's because you're a freak," Helen chimed in good-naturedly.

Kirsty swatted at the back of the headrest, "I am not."

Helen smiled, "Still in denial?"

The words were said in Helen's voice but Kirsty heard them in a much different way. The baritone, even after a year, still rang out clearly. It gripped her spine and shook it fiercely. She didn't like to think about her encounters with the Cenobites. Nor did she like to think about the deal she'd struck with their leader. Five people had died at her hands, five souls handed over to their dark explorations. Kirsty would never be able to get the blood off her hands. There would never be redemption for her soul-a soul she wasn't sure still belonged to her.

They arrived at the hostess' house rather quickly and Kirsty's sudden silence wasn't noticed. Once ushered inside, she was able to mingle some, to make inane conversation with people who didn't know a thing about her. Eventually, she found herself in the kitchen, sipping a glass of wine and nodding along to a story about the rise in homicides over the last year. People were found mutilated in what was thought to be ritualistic slayings. Kirsty found herself asking questions that she shouldn't, her curiosity overflowing the barriers she'd erected as a defense against the horrors of her past.

"They found this one Guy completely incinerated. Down to the bone," a man Kirsty thought was named Harry said. "Real heavy shit."

"Did they ever figure out who did it?" Kirsty asked.

He shrugged, "No prints."

The news sat ill in her stomach, her anxiety rising. The box was still sitting in the back of her closet, but she knew there were many floating around, waiting for someone to solve them. Dr. Channard hadn't had any trouble tracking down a multitude of them. She shuddered to think that one had once again made its way into the hands of the public.

Harry moved on to another subject and Kirsty let it go. To satisfy that part of her that continued to dwell on her dark deeds, she would do a cursory search on the internet when she got home.

Lucas entered the room, spotting Kirsty immediately. He smiled and sauntered over, a cold beer in his hands.

"How are you enjoying the party?" He asked.

Kirsty shrugged, "It's been pretty entertaining."

Lucas took a swig, "Yeah, Harry can be a little longwinded. Right, Harry?"

Harry's smile was lopsided, "I happen to be an excellent conversationalist. I was just telling Kirsty about the murders that have been on the news."

Lucas nodded, "I heard about that. Pretty sick."

Harry rolled his eyes, "They're probably hyped up by the media. You know how they are."

Lucas seemed to think about it, "Yeah, but with five victims already and not a single lead on the case, it doesn't make sense to give it hype. Seems to me that the story has enough hype in and of itself."

Harry's eyes widened comically, "You sure know a lot about this case." He leaned in conspiratorially, "Are you the killer?"

Lucas, too, leaned in, "I wouldn't tell you if I was."

Kirsty watched the exchange with a small smile, thinking about how passive these people were being about atrocities. She wondered if they would be so nonchalant if they saw it for themselves. The blood welling up to their eyeballs and the sound of meat tearing in their ears, the stuff of nightmares and they talked about it like it was nothing. She set the glass down, suddenly no longer interested. She was feeling quite warm with a buzz and all the talk about death was only making her feel the need to stifle memories. It wouldn't do to have a breakdown at her friend's party.

Helen caught her on the way to the bathroom, saying, "We've been looking for you. Ashley says she's got a surprise for us in the living room. Some kind of game. She found it at an auction on the West side last week."

Kirsty smiled, "Okay. Let me use the bathroom and I'll catch up."

"Don't take too long," Helen called out teasingly.

Kirsty gave Helen a half hearted shove before turning and stepping into the bathroom. The room was decorated in stripes of green and pink, the toilet and bath a cheery rose color. Kirsty frowned, but went about running cool water over her hands and dabbing at her face and neck. The mirror showed her familiar face, liquid liner cat eyes and the wrinkles beginning to form around her mouth. She'd tamed what were once unruly curls into a sleek up-do, the little red horns peeking out from the band. Her dress fit well enough despite the fact that she'd lost weight since she'd killed her husband. Some people attributed it to depression, but she knew it was from her heightened anxiety over the last year. She couldn't eat when she kept feeling like her biggest fear would come walking in, uncalled, through a hole gaping in her walls, determined to renege on the deal.

After giving a quick tug to her boots and running her hands up the length of the hose hugging her thighs, Kirsty opened the door and flicked off the lights. She headed for the living room where she could see that a crowd was already forming. The faces were eager, dusted with anticipation and excitement, focused on something ahead of them.

Turning the corner, she nearly ran into Lucas, Helen, and Josh.

"This is the third one to try," Helen whispered, lifting her glass to her lips.

Kirsty's brows furrowed as she tried to get a better look, "Try what?"

"To open the box," Lucas said in an urgent tone, his eyes uncannily bright.

Kirsty's nerves flared to life, her heart pounding loudly as her mind sounded the refrain-_Please no, please no, please no._

Craning her neck, Kirsty felt herself reaching out in vain, a startled yelp on her lips. Sitting in the middle of the living room where the coffee table had been was Stanley Houseman. He was running his index finger over the circumference of the middle pattern. She watched in horror as the box began to shift.

Thinking quickly, Kirsty began to push people towards the doors, telling them to run. They looked at her with incredulous expression until the lights went out. Not even a breath sounded in the sudden darkness.

"Run!" Kirsty cried, noting that some indeed did begin moving towards the doors.

The room filled with blue light and Kirsty knew that she had work quickly. She shoved more people out of the room, issuing orders to Helen to get their friends out of there. Within half a minute, she felt the room go eerily silent and she knew the time had come. Kirsty felt the attention shift to the center of the room where Stanley was still sitting. And, God help her, she hid in fear.

Standing tall, proud, authoritative was the leader of the Cenobites, flanked on each side by disfigured objects of horror. Kirsty recognized the chattering one, but the female with her cranium split open and held down by pins was new. They hadn't noticed her, their focus on Stanley.

The man was shaking, his tie askew and sweat rolling down his neck and forehead. He stuttered as he talked, fear rising like vomit.

"Who are you?"

The pinned one tilted his head to the side, "You opened the box. You called us."

Stanley tried to stand and failed, "It's just a puzzle box."

The chuckle was deep, nearly condescending and Kirsty felt herself relate to the familiar misunderstanding. She didn't dare move, wouldn't think to draw their eyes, but she peered out from behind a man built like a linebacker, fascinated to watch the scene unfold from the outside.

"We have such sights to show you," the female said, one brow cocked sardonically.

"Oh yes," said the pinned one. "Pain and pleasure the likes you have never known."

He turned his icy black eyes to the crowd, surveying them. Kirsty ducked a little lower, hoping that he hadn't seen her curious face peeking out. She breathed several deep breaths, unsure of how to get out of the room without being noticed. Her last encounter with them had been survived by the skin of her teeth and she didn't have any souls to bargain with this time. She couldn't predict if he'd be as generous as he had been in the past where she was concerned.

"We came for the one who opened the box, but we are willing to accept more souls tonight. If you wish to experience the extremes of sensation, please join us. If not, leave this place for it holds nothing for you."

The words were said so solemnly that it took several long seconds for the crowd to react. It wasn't until a hooked chain slammed out from the box, itself, slipping easily into Stanley's flesh, that the chaos broke out. Kirsty was pushed from side to side even as she attempted to make her own hasty exit. In retrospect, she would understand that he had known she was there from the moment he stepped into the room, but it took until she felt his presence behind her for that comprehension to catch up to her.

"Kirsty," he drawled in what must have been a cheerful tone for him.

She stopped, her fisted hands at her sides. It took a moment to collect herself, but she eventually turned. Kirsty and Stanley were the only humans left in the room, but she felt the sole focus of his attention like a live wire firing all over. His gaze pierced right through her like the pins through his skull, trapping her in place with no choice but to wait for his judgment.

"I must say that I am pleasantly surprised to meet you once again."

Kirsty had no weapon to fight him with, and instead relied on an old standard, her big mouth. "Yeah, well, I figured you'd be off torturing those souls for at least the next thousand years."

Her tone was light, but the fear remained painfully apparent, her hands shaking and her muscles coiled to run. He took her in, down to her booted feet, in an appraising glance that, for some sick and morbid reason, made her want to blush. His eyes lingered on her exposed thighs for a moment longer than was strictly necessary before he returned his gaze to her face.

"Ah," he said, his hands coming together in a steeple, "They suffered quite beautifully. I thank you for your gift. But, I was disappointed that you kept your end of the bargain."

Kirsty couldn't answer, her eyes narrowed as her suspicion grew. She didn't understand what he was getting at. By holding her end of the bargain, he and his comrades had gained five souls for the price of one. Five souls that were steeped in greed and lust and sin. It would have been a feast in their realm, a true victory.

As if sensing her confusion, he leaned down so that she could almost feel the brush of the pins against her cheek.

With the smallest of smiles, he said, "Your suffering would have been much more delicious."

Kirsty gasped, taking a step back only to be met with the knob of the door to the kitchen, which closed firmly behind her. She felt her breath bubbling inside her even as her legs wanted to give out. It wasn't fair that she could have no power here when she had bested him three times already. Each new encounter left her reeling with any attempt to escape when she should somehow feel at the very least like she could best him, given her track record.

Stanley cried out, his body wrapped tightly in chains that dug into his skin. Blood pooled beneath him onto the very expensive rug Ashley had bragged about not a week before. Kirsty winced as one of the Cenobites swiped at him half heartedly with a knife.

Turning ever so slightly, their leader glanced behind him, "Would you like to join us, Kirsty? I could show you how it's done."

Kirsty shook her head vehemently, unable to speak without the possibility of whimpering. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction, wouldn't give him any satisfaction if it could be helped.

"Shame," he replied, his hand coming up to grip her throat. "You have such… potential."

His eyes dropped down the length of her body once more, his icy fingers tilting her head back until she was staring at the ceiling. With the boots giving her an extra four and a half inches of height, she could barely see over the tips of the pins. For once, his towering frame did not quite envelop her as it usually did. Kirsty tried to keep her breathing even, but could not stop the pounding of her heart. It sat like a stone in her chest, rumbling with every staccato beat until the feeling was very nearly painful.

Leaning down, he spoke into her ear with an ominous rasp, "The veil grows thin, child. It will not hold us back for long and we both know that your soul belongs to me. You only delay the inevitable."

Kirsty swallowed, catching another scream from Stanley as he was dragged into the labyrinth of Leviathan. She pressed her hands to her sides, bunching them in the fabric of the dress she wished was so much longer. The leather of his uniform brushed against her skin, reminding her of what he was and the things of which he was capable. She felt the knee jerk reaction of kicking back away from him keep blossoming in her stomach, the door preventing another escape.

"I belong to no one," she gritted out, hoping that her voice sounded more firm than she actually felt.

He laughed, low and long, a leisurely sound that underlined the fact that he was eternal and would wait forever to claim what he thought was his. It reverberated in her chest, striking at her innermost being with something akin to wild madness. It shot through her like a bolt of adrenaline, setting senses she didn't know she had aflame.

Strong hands lifted her bodily from the floor until her boots were dangling several inches from the ground. Kirsty took to opportunity to fling one out in the hope of getting a hit in before he killed her. He avoided the blow deftly, stepping between her legs and using his body as leverage to keep her pinned to the door.

"Such spirit," he rumbled with a look of awe on his scarred face. "I do relish that."

Hands holding his forearms, Kirsty fought to keep breathing, the weight of her body keeping her throat pressed evenly against his palms. He watched her struggle impassively before he relented, lowering her to the ground and stepping away. Kirsty watched as several more chains flung out and ripped at Stanley before he was pulled into the hole gouged into the wall of the house. The Cenobites took their leave, their leader lingering only a moment more.

He sent her one final look, an assessment that was more clinical that devious.

"Until we meet again… Kirsty," he said. And then he was gone. The lights sprung to life and all that was left were vicious bloodstains on the floor.

It took months for the drama of the incident to die down. Kirsty kept a low profile, avoiding phone calls from people who wanted an inside scoop. She managed to tuck the box into her bag while everyone was still huddling in fear outside. It now sat next to its twin in the back of her closet. Kirsty kept a regular check on them, some manic part of her mind thinking that they might be colluding together in an attempt to enact her downfall.

Helen called it a party trick even though Ashley had yet to be able to explain the sudden disappearance of her husband. The insurance company was sending auditors in every week while the police confiscated computers and files from their home. The investigation was winding down to a little bit of nothing. No leads, no prints, just stories that were far too wild to be believed.

The police had interviewed her twice and she had given them nothing. There was no way she was going back to being looked at like she was crazy. The few years in her early adulthood were enough. She explained that she had gotten out of there're, snuck down the hall, at the first sign of trouble. She hadn't seen a thing only heard a scream. It seemed like they were trying to connect Stanley's disappearance with the other murders, grasping at straws to close the case.

There had also been a lot of prank calls since the day of the party. The phone would ring at all hours of the day and, when she would answer, there would only be silence on the other side. During one such episode, Kirsty had failed and cursed at them, receiving nothing in return. She had taken to screening all her calls and turning off the ringer.

Checking her watch, Kirsty noted that she was going to be late for her date with Lucas if she didn't get a move on. After several failed attempts, he'd finally gotten her to go out with him. It wouldn't be anything special, a walk through the many antique shops in the city. Lucas had an interest in history, gathering little bits of it to store in his own private collection. He only talked about it sparingly and Kirsty had dismissed the idea as an amusing hobby.

Dressed in a pair of soft cotton shorts, sneakers, and a black T-shirt, she climbed out of her car and into the parking lot of the first store on the block. Lucas was waiting for her with a ready smile.

"There you are," he said brightly. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't show."

Kirsty felt herself grimace internally. The thought had crossed her mind, initially. She had wanted to call and cancel, say that she wasn't ready to date again. But, Lucas would only continue on pursuing her. His tenacious nature wouldn't let her go. If she went on the date and satisfied whatever curiosity he had for her, then he might be more willing to move on to other women.

"I'm here," she replied lamely.

Lucas offered her his arm, which she reluctantly took. They meandered into the first store, a collection of all things nautical. There were model ships, bells, maps, compasses, and knotted ropes everywhere. Kirsty looked through the slightly dusty glass to an ancient telescope. It pointed out into the street and through another vendor's main lobby.

A form, distorted by the glass stared back at her intently. Kirsty let out a startled breath and pulled away.

Lucas chuckled, "You okay?"

"Yeah," Kirsty said, surprised to find herself a little breathless. It was hardly the strangest thing to ever occur to her. But, the eyes had been so intent, knowing she was returning the gaze.

Finding nothing of interest, Lucas herded her along to the next shop. This one was filled with old chests and furniture, the smell of aged wood overwhelming Kirsty almost immediately. Lucas found a rather large steel bolted chest and purchased it for delivery to his home. He spent a lot of time testing the strength of the steel as it has some spots where rust was beginning to take hold.

Next, they stopped for a coffee at a small cafe. Kirsty held it gratefully between her palms, which were beginning to catch some of the night chill. Though spring was on the horizon, the nights remained frigid and wet, pushing most of the shoppers to head home.

On the way back, the sun settled into a thin slice over the horizon and Kirsty made a mention of going home. Lucas begged for one more shop and she relented, unable to truly disappoint him on their one and only date. He led her to the last shop on the next street over, one she recognized as the shop she'd glimpsed earlier. Inside was a vast array of sumptuous fabrics and art.

The walls hung completely covered with oil paintings that depicted anything from ornate stills to nude beauties. The rafters were strung with thick velvet ropes of tasseled tapestries. Even the furniture was plush and inviting. Kirsty ran her hands along the backs and arms of chairs, over the columns and pedestals supporting sculptures. It seemed that everything was bathed in this golden light that made even the air sparkle.

Kirsty wandered around while Lucas talked with the owner. She liked the little gilded pieces and the plush lounge chairs. Some of the art was a little abstract, but the indulgent theme remained. As she neared the back of the shop, the pieces became more avant-garde and darker. Gold gave way to burned ash metals and velvet to silk. The lighting changed to a cool hue that made the lessening sunlight somehow accentuated. There were chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, swaying gently in unfelt wind. Kirsty swallowed as unwanted comparisons flew through her mind.

At the far back of the room was a display encased in glass. Kirsty approached it slowly, trying to decipher its form. A man stood with his chest and abdominal cavity opened and the organs on display. The heart was pulled from its place and set carefully on a glass stand. It was made to come apart, its halves opened for dither study. Kirsty had seen a similar display in her biology class. Each body part opened to reveal its internal structure. Her teacher had a book explaining how to disemboweled and dismember the pieces and how to study them properly. This one had no such book, though the price was marked at forty thousand dollars.

She heard Lucas step up next to her, "Pretty cool, huh?"

Kirsty shrugged. When she'd seen the real thing splattered all over the floor, the mannequin didn't quite compare.

"It's alright, I guess."

Lucas scoffed, "Alright? It's a masterpiece. Imagine how many hours the maker had to spend studying the actual body parts to get it right."

Kirsty could definitely imagine, could picture heads bent over disfigured mass of flesh for hours. It was the thing she saw most in her dreams, clinical evisceration.

Having made whatever purchases he was going to make that day, Lucas began to escort her out. With the door barely in sight, a figure stepped out of the shadows. It was far too late to run by the time Kirsty recognized the gun in his hand. She held still and waited.

"Thy dark life is forfeit!" The man shouted.

It occurred to her that this was a silly thing to say right before murdering someone, though she didn't fare much better. She hadn't said a thing as she took the lives of Trevor's compatriots.

Kirsty heard the gunshot, she felt Lucas jostle her a bit in an attempt to duck. She also felt the skin along her right temple split open before she lost consciousness.

The air was cold when she came to, her body lying on a flimsy hospital bed. She groaned as her head sparked with pain, but her fingers could detect no wound. Glancing around, she took in the grimy walls and the broken lights, the dingy curtains over a window that let in no sun. Blinking, she recognized a familiar hole in the far wall.

Her first attempt to stand was a failure, her legs shaking. But, she managed it on the second try, the sneakers on her feet scuffing the floors. Holding on to the bed for support, Kirsty tried to think of her escape plan. There were no doors and she doubted that the window could be broken. That left one option.

Inching towards the gaps, Kirsty had to rear backwards, nearly falling on her ass, as a figure stepped forward from the dark. Familiar and foreboding, he moved with easy grace and fluidity. Kirsty wanted to spit.

He peered down at her with inscrutable black eyes, "Hello, Kirsty."

She felt her muscles relax a bit, thankful that at least a recognizable face would be the one to drag her away to her disgusting fate. At the very least, she would know the hands that ripped her to shreds.

Throat dry, she asked, "Am I dead?"

Not a movement in his body, though he answered, "Not quite."

Kirsty, almost relieved, let her eyes drop as she searched her memory for why she was suddenly in between worlds. She recalled the antique shops, walking with Lucas. She thought about the art, the golden feel of the room… and the shooter. Again, she touched her temple, rubbing at the light ache that remained. In reality, she must have had a hell of a head wound to be slammed so near the labyrinth while alive and without opening the box.

"An inch in the other direction and you would be," he offered, almost gently.

Kirsty nodded, distracted. What did all of this mean? Was she in a coma? Was she stuck on the borderline of hell?

Reading her mind, he lifted a hand in a regal gesture, "A visit. No more, no less. Come, I will show you."

She hesitated, wary of any offer he might make and the chains that would invariably be attached.

"No one will touch you, this I promise," he rumbled, humor in his tone. He added, "Stop your trembling, you will not be harmed."

He was cajoling her, she could tell, egging her on with the challenge that he knew she couldn't quite turn down. Eyes narrowed, she took his hand with bravado she didn't know that she had. He didn't smile maniacally, like she thought he might, simply folded her hand into the crook of his arm and guided her through the doorway.

They walked the halls of the labyrinth, passing corridors that seemed to lead to nowhere. Echoing in the depths were sounds that Kirsty had to strain in order to recognize. Mixed together so that one was inseparable from the next were groans of pain and pleasure, male and female alike. They swirled around her like a tangible thing, skimming across her nerves until Kirsty was swallowing back the urge to run back to the safety of the hospital room.

"You were so young when you first walked these halls," he commented lightly. "I doubt you could see the wonders that lay before you."

She very nearly scoffed, thinking that torture would not be high on her list of wonders. Though her tolerance for blood and gore was certainly much higher than other human beings, she doubted she had the capacity to fully appreciate the Cenobites level of expertise.

There was a chuckle emitted from next to her, "You sell yourself short, child. Your potential, as I have always said, is great."

Brow lifted, Kirsty sneered, "Stay out of my head."

His black eyes looked at her side long, "Oh? But how will I know how to fulfill your desires? You certainly haven't been very forthcoming."

They turned a corner and marched down a flight of stairs onto a ledge. Kirsty craned her neck to peer into the darkness. There was no light to illuminate the drop off, only empty air and the continued sounds of humans experiencing whatever torture was being inflicted upon them.

"I never asked you to fulfill anything."

He dropped her arm and moved towards the edge, squaring off with the abyss, "You made the request when you opened the box."

A deep sigh filled her lungs as she watched him wave a hand in a wide arc. She rolled her eyes, and placed her hands on her hips. The obsession with the box had to be a part of his nature, a continual fight to get through the bars of his cage to the multitude of souls on earth. Bounds as he was, the call to action had to be his best source of excitement.

"Doesn't the trading of souls for mine kind of nullify the agreement?" She quipped.

Whipping around on his heel, his leather cassock flying around his body, he fixed her with a focused gaze. The approaching steps were measured and heavy, a subtle glow emanating from the space behind him. It grew in a red haze until he was walking towards her almost in shadow, his pale face unreadable.

"I tire of repeating myself," he growled, now standing nose to pinned nose with her. "Your soul is mine to do with as I please. I allow you this extended reprieve out of the goodness of my own black heart."

Gritting her teeth, Kirsty said, "I'll only win again."

Humor touched his eyes, "We shall see. For now, let me show you a little of what awaits you."

Kirsty allowed him to guide her to the edge so that she could look down into the pit. She expected to see a swirling mass of torn flesh, blood, and organs. Instead, whole bodies were presented before her, nearly untouched, though she could see visible marks and scars even from a distance. They writhed together in a tangle of limbs, sighs and groans floating upwards to her ears. She felt herself burn with a blush despite her own experience in sexual frenzy. None of her memories, however, seemed to mirror the sheer unadulterated pleasure that marked each human face. They rubbed and felt and licked, sucked, bit. It was difficult to discern one person from the next, so entwined were the bodies. Around the outer edges, Cenobites paroled the area, giving helping touches here and there to keep the excitement rolling.

Mouth agape, Kirsty could do nothing but stare, uncomprehending of the difference between reality and her expectations. In her periphery, she saw him smirk.

"Two sides of a coin, child," he murmured. "Pleasure and pain."

She clenched her hands into fists, unable to look away.

"I don't understand. You tear souls apart." She looked up at him, "You said you'd tear mine apart."

Though his eyes remained on the spectacle, his attention was on her. "In the most sumptuous of ways, yes."

Her eyes fell back to the sights below, "By taking me to an orgy."

The question was sincere, but her tone was quite sardonic, baleful even. It burned her that she was actually disappointed in the outcome, though it would have been far better than having her skin flayed from her muscle. All this build up of death, deception, and pain and she was now being shown that some got to have sex for eternity. It seemed somehow… anticlimactic.

"No," was his answer. "You'll not be given unto them, though I doubt they would turn one such as yourself away. They are quite proud of their most beautiful pets."

Putting aside the compliment to be studied and deconstructed later, Kirsty demanded, "Then, why are you showing me this?"

"Perspective, my dear. Only for perspective." He moved away towards another hidden staircase, "Come, there is more to see."

The path delved deep into the heart of the labyrinth until they were near the center. Over the horizon, Kirsty could see Leviathan spinning in an unending pattern, bolts of light shooting out haphazardly. Part of her wanted to ask about the god he served, but she couldn't bring herself to face the answers that might come. After her encounter with Dr. Channard, her disgust was far superior to her curiosity.

He brought her to a long hallway where he paused, taking a moment to look at her. She lifted both brows in question, her hands slipping into her pockets just so they had something to do rather than itch to reach out and touch him. In the light, the leather of his uniform looked butter soft and shone with an eerie intensity. It was as if the fabric, itself, were another being, writhing over his skin and waiting for the next kill. She wanted to yank on the decorative pieces, to see if the buckles were practical or for looks. Internally, Kirsty warred between berating herself for irrational thinking and goading herself into actually going through with it.

"Would you like to see Trevor?" He asked, tone friendly.

Kirsty thought about it for a moment, pulling her lip between her teeth. Eventually she shook her head, "I think it would spoil the tour, don't you?"

"Indeed," he replied, moving forward leisurely. "These are the halls of pain, Kirsty. Perhaps they will meet your expectations."

The hall was lined with rooms that had no doors or bars. Kirsty kept to the center of the path, a few steps behind her guide, her eyes glancing in fascination into each cavern. There were people hung from chains, much as she expected. Others, though, were mutilated into strips of flesh that still moved as if alive. Tables were strewn with body parts, heads that still cried out with each new cut. She stared, agog, when an arm came crawling out of one room only to be snatched up by the chain of another. The bodies, it seemed, could be swapped between their torturers without skipping a beat.

"How do you like the sights of our pleasures?"

Kirsty blinked up at the back of his head, noting the exposed piece of his skull above the high necked collar. She took a long time to answer, her steps continuing to fall in line with his. They turned a corner and down another set of stairs into a deep, cool expanse of a room filled with dangling chains. She could see a stone lounge sitting in the middle, a glow pouring in from somewhere above it the only source of light. Kirsty was reminded of an altar she'd once seen in a pagan book of rituals during her explorative years following their first few encounters.

"I'm a little confused," she said, finally, coming to a stop not far from the lounge.

Turning, he tilted his head to the side, "Yes. I imagine you are."

Seconds ticked by on into eternal minutes that made Kirsty want to shuffle her feet and drop her gaze. The inner drive to win at all costs kicked in, though, and she managed to hold his eyes boldly.

"I have a gift for you," he announced, waving her closer.

Immediately suspicious, she waited a moment longer before stepping forward. He closed the gap until they were once again within inches of each other. Kirsty felt her skin sizzle with the nearness of him, an unknown feeling raking through her body. She waited for endless moments while he drew out the anticipation that had become its own form of torture. Finally, and with a suddenness that surprised her, he leaned down pressed his mouth to hers. The pins along his cheeks and jaw line pushed at her skin, but didn't break it. His lips were cool, but firmer than she would have imagined, masterful in their approach. He kept his hands to his sides, neither drawing her in nor protesting should she pull away. It nearly destroyed her that she couldn't do so.

When he released her, Kirsty searched his face for signs of deceit. She felt her embarrassment flood in, shaming her that she should allow such contact from a demon of hell. Desperate for something to say, she let her tongue grow sharp.

"Is that your gift? A kiss?"

There was half a smile on his face when he replied, "No. That was for me. This is for you."

Kirsty found herself shoved backwards onto the lounge so that her hips scraped against the edge. Chains that she knew were controlled by his mental prowess wound around her wrists, pinning them down. Another arced over her torso, holding her firmly in place.

Kirsty grunted, her eyes filled with fire, "You said I wouldn't be harmed."

"And you won't be," he said, brows lifting a fraction.

The seconds ticked by. Kirsty tested the give of the chains halfheartedly, unsurprised when they held strong. He continued to survey her, waiting for something. She was tempted to goad him a little, to draw forth the plan with words and snarls. Something told her to keep quiet and to wait it out, that all would be revealed to her eventually. She kept still, eyeing him from her prone position.

It might have been minutes, maybe hours later that the change began. An uncomfortable feeling rose from the depths of her spine, sprawling out in slow waves that slipped over her with languid intensity. It built so slowly that she at first thought it was pain, a nervous anxiety. It wasn't until it was too late that Kirsty recognized it for what it was—pleasure. It spanned her abdomen and hips, crawling down between her thighs. Brows furrowing, she fought it with every ounce of her being, teeth clamping shut to block out the sounds.

He watched, inscrutable as ever, coal black eyes waiting with the knowledge that he had an eternity to see her falter. She steeled herself, seeing the challenge and the devastation ahead. Her hands gripped the edges of the stone beneath her, wishing that she could plant her dangling feet against the floor. And still, the feeling built, until she was sweating and her heart was pumping furiously in her chest.

And still, he watched her, his eyes flicking down the length of her body. He lingered on the spot where her calves scraped against the stone, her legs occasionally giving out under the weight of her own body. When she finally had the courage to meet his gaze, he tilted his head a little to the side and sent her an almost flirtatious look, amused and knowing. He would win this game.

Eventually, she gave up the façade, pulling her knees in tightly to put pressure on her aching core. She rolled from side to side, seeking relief where none would be given. It did little to help, serving only to send her to new heights, to new sensations. With a scoff, he kicked her heels apart, stepping between them to block her from using her own body to ease the feelings that now overpowered her stubborn will.

"That is cheating," he announced. "And you've had too much of an advantage already."

Unable to speak, Kirsty dropped her head back to bang against the stone, yanking against the chains as her body rocked with renewed sensation. She used whatever leverage she could to move, to do anything that would break whatever spell he'd put on her. Her arousal oozed through every pore, dripping down her sides to pool beneath her. It sank into her bones until she was shaking with it, until the very air around her was too much.

Head swinging from side to side, she squeezed her eyes shut and jerked her hips upwards, seeking friction that wasn't there. Her sneakers scratched down the length of the legs that held her open to the air. Kicking a bit, she gained a little leverage, the rubber soles catching on the buckles of his boots. Mouth twisting in concentration, Kirsty used the foothold to arch completely off the lounge until her shoulders and arms were the only thing pressed downwards. Neck lifted to the chained ceiling, she groaned long and loud. He leaned down so that his hands were braced on either side of her hips, the change in position forcing her legs higher, wider.

"It's exquisite, isn't it?" he asked lowly. "Remember that this is just a taste, Kirsty. There is so much more to explore."

She cursed through clenched jaws, her gaze baleful and filled with ire. If she had, had a free hand, she'd have slapped him in that instant, regardless of the damage she'd do to the appendage. As it was, she could only use him to buck wildly, the leather of his pants sensuous despite her frustration. Cool and soft, it simultaneously acted as a flame and balm for her suffering. Stoked by the feeling, Kirsty felt her insides contract, orgasm rolling over her in wracking pulses that left her wheezing for breath.

Eyes that she hadn't known were still closed opened to a hospital room, machines beeping wildly with her heart rate. She sighed, her legs shaking and her body limp, weak from the aftershocks.

It would have been easy to dismiss their interaction as a dream, as a figment of her imagination brought on by the head trauma. But, that wouldn't explain the bruises on her wrists or the cuts along her calves and thighs, remnants of a tour through the many levels of hell.

Kirsty ignored it for days-easily done with the swarms of friends that drifted in and out of, first, her hotel room and then her home. They talked about how brave she was and how lucky. The bullet merely grazed her, inches from death. Kirsty thanked them and accepted their gifts of food and flowers, distracted for the moment from her burning anger and shame.

The way he'd made her react was undergirded with the vast valley between thought and fantasy. When she was young, she saw him only as a tyrant of fear, a lifelong bringer of destruction to her and her family. Now, with his focus so keenly on her, Kirsty was loathe to admit that she wanted to know more. He was teasing her with little bits of the truth, bringing her ever closer in concentric circles until he had her right where he wanted her.

The game had taken on a whole new aspect, a dangerous and damning one. The encounter could have easily been forgotten if not for the lingering side effects. Kirsty's skin was sensitive. It took all of her willpower to sit still when her clothes brushed every intimate part of her, sending little pleasing dashes of feeling to her brain. The organ was on overload twenty four hours a day, leaving her tired and drowsy. Sleep happened irregularly and, when she did finally slip into unconsciousness, her dreams were filled with running the halls of the labyrinth in desperation. She didn't know if she was running from something or towards something, but she would occasionally hear his dark laughter echoing around her.

The prank calls continued, probably bolstered by her return to the news. She kept her head down and waited it out, refusing to answer questions and generally displaying her characteristic flash of stubbornness. Lucas has apologized a million times over, offering endless attempts to make it up to her. Kirsty turned him down gently, but firmly, stating that she really needed time to herself to heal.

The one person she allowed around her for more than a short visit was Helen. She understood Kirsty's need for space and was one of the few who didn't push for details. Kirsty couldn't even talk about the events leading up to the shooting without blushing and that brought far too many more questions that she simply couldn't answer. Helen would have coffee with her, unphased by the occasional bouts of silence that Kirsty would sometimes exhibit when she tried to make sense of the whole experience. The doctors thought it was PTSD, but Kirsty was simply confused. Her perception of the Cenobites had shifted so drastically that she couldn't quite wrap her head around it. The fact that part of her looked forward to seeing him again only exacerbated her confusion.

He hadn't done a thing except kiss her, and not even in the brutal fashion she expected. Kirsty had no doubt that he could and probably would inflict pain with any intimate gesture, but knowing that he could master pleasure as well added another piece to the puzzle and she could never quite stay away from puzzles. In probably less than an hour, he'd reawakened her long forgotten libido as well as pulled the tiger's tail of her curiosity. Her mind, in the quiet moments, was consumed with dissecting the things she had seen in the depths of hell.

And then there was her reaction. She hadn't pushed him away, snarling in disgust. She had let him have his way almost passively in her surprise. Kirsty scoffed at herself internally. There was little surprise after the first few seconds, only fascination. She remembered that the texture of his mouth was far softer than the dead, scaly feeling she had always thought. He hadn't used his tongue, but she had a feeling that she would be surprised by that as well.

The strangest thing about the memory, if any one aspect could be called the strangest, was the way he tasted. Rather, it was the way he tasted like nothing. Kisses in the past had tasted a myriad of different ways for Kirsty, from sweet to spicy to hints of musk. Perhaps it was because she was walking between worlds or that he hadn't deepened the press of his mouth. For someone who was so incredibly experienced in the extremes of feeling, she thought his gesture relatively tame. Kirsty wasn't quite sure why it irked her.

On her first venture out into the world following her near demise, Helen took her to a coffee shop. They sat in a little corner and sipped their lattes while Kirsty tried to ignore the draft floating across the back of her neck. It caressed its way over her exposed skin until she had to yank her scarf up to her chin for fear of moaning in the middle of the conversation. Distracted and achy, she did her best to pay attention to the conversation while wishing that she had just stayed at home.

"You sure you don't want to take off your coat?" Helen asked with a touch of concern.

Kirsty shook head, "I'm fine."

She wasn't fine. Her thighs were shaking from the exertion of keeping them firmly closed. Her breasts felt heavy and her fingertips itched every time she moved. Even her teeth seemed too sensitive, the heat of the coffee near scalding.

Helen talked about Joshua's latest project and the marketing campaign she was doing for her company. Their schedules were tightly packed-so much so that they had to schedule their lovemaking. Kirsty lifted a brow, thinking that Helen was lucky her husband still wanted her. She and Trevor hadn't had sex for months before their last anniversary. She had been reduced to sneaking off to the bathroom in the middle of the night just to get an orgasm in.

When their coffees were empty, Helen pulled on her light jacket and indicated that they should go. Two miles into their return trip she received a phone call that was tense at best. Kirsty listened to her friend argue with the caller, spouting off that they were irresponsible and acting like a child. It ended with an irritated 'fine'.

Helen turned to her, "Do you mind if we make a stop? My little sister is stranded at this club. Her DD is, and I quote, 'totally wasted' and she wants to go home."

Kirsty shrugged, "Yeah, okay."

"It'll only take a second," Helen added as they took an exit ramp.

The club was called The Boiler Room and Kirsty immediately wanted to roll her eyes. There were a lot of what looked like underage teens huddled against the wall, cell phones out. Gothic and pale, their skin looked near translucent. Helen climbed out of the car and Kirsty hesitated. She waved her friend on, knowing that if she had to weave her way through a crowd, it would spell disaster.

Settling into her seat, she scanned the area. People milled about, the club obviously a popular weekend hot spot. She hadn't done the nightclub thing until she met Trevor. He took her out to these places over and over despite the fact that they bored her. The same people with the same repetitive stories always surrounded them. Kirsty took to getting very drunk in order to enjoy herself on those nights.

Inevitably, her eyes were drawn to the dark corners, to the alleys and the nooks where shadow prevailed. She thought she might see the usual couples making out in the darkness, fondling in the dark. It shocked her that she caught little metallic flashes and disfigured faces. Dark forces were moving through the shadows, teasing people into their clutches. Around a corner, one female was unwinding the intestines of a man nailed to he brick. In another alley, two were literally pulling a torso apart.

Suddenly fearful for Helen, Kirsty shot from the car and into the club, frantic to get her friend out of there before she fell to their dark desires. It was crowded, far too loud, and Kirsty wondered who would actually have a good time in a place that reeked of tacky horror. Pushing through the crowd, Kirsty searched for her friend, elbowing and shoving to get her way. In the flashes of the strobe light, she could see glimpses of dark creatures lurking. The veil here, too, was thin. They seemed to walk freely, unseen by humanity.

She turned in a circle, feeling the now familiar sensation of arousal and sweat running down over her hips. Ducking around a dancing couple, she reached a railing that looked down onto another dance floor. From the vantage point, she could see that the club was filled with Cenobites, some exploring skin in the dark and others in the open, tempting the patrons.

Turning to head down a set of stairs, Kirsty was faced with the female Cenobite from Ashley's house, her skull shining in the low light. The female assessed her, pouting mouth pressed thin. Kirsty kept her breathing even, stepping to the side so that she wasn't backed against the wall.

"So fragile," the female murmured. "I could tear you apart without even trying."

Kirsty lifted onto the balls of her feet in case she needed to run, "Fuck you, too."

She had, had enough of these beings coming into her life, taunting her with her own mortality, and disappearing for years on end. Kirsty hadn't opened the goddamn box and she wasn't about to let them keep messing with her. She didn't ask to have them enter her world but they sure as hell thought they owned it. Cenobites drifted past, occasionally glancing at their interaction and seeming interested in what was going on. Kirsty doubted they had ever seen a human last more than a few seconds as a whole body with one of their own.

The female laughed, her hands reaching out and grasping Kirsty's coat, pulling her close as she hissed in her ear. "I can see what he means by spirited. How spirited will you be when I cut out your tongue?"

Kirsty didn't have to think about who the female was referencing and it made her seethe that part of her wondered just how much they shared if he could share his thoughts on her with the female. Angry, she reached out and pulled on the wires holding open the female's skull. The hooks pulled through her skin like taffy, blue blood seeping out.

Startled, the female dropped her and Kirsty took the opportunity to run. She blazed through the crowd at a stunning rate, falling bodily into the bar and breathing hard. To her left, a man glanced sidelong at her and Kirsty had the urge to give him the finger. Laying her head on the bar, she took a breath before standing and once more beginning the search for her friend.

The music pounded in her chest, leaving little bursts of sensation while she walked. Bodies brushed against her and, despite the layers of clothing between them, she felt the sounds of pleasure bubbling up to her mouth. Thanking God that the music was so loud that no one would hear her, Kirsty pressed on. She found Helen standing over a petulant looking woman in her early twenties who was clearly drunk. They had to carry her out of the club in order to get her into the car.

When Kirsty finally got to bed that night, she stared at the ceiling for a long time, finally allowing herself the really think about what she felt regarding the darkness that seemed hell bent on following her for the rest of her life. She had bested him, yes, and that was a definite surprise for both of them. That he wanted to possess her soul was a given. Any other motivations were completely foreign to her and one misstep would send her to eternal pain—at least, she thought he intended eternal pain for her. Pain was certainly his preference when it came to doling out the torture. And yet, he'd given her an orgasm that was in her top most memorable in her life, following her first time. He'd even done it without bargaining for her surrender, though she doubted her was completely selfless. Their interactions always came at a price and Kirsty just wished she knew what the price of his pleasure would be.

Kirsty didn't know of the veil was really growing thinner or if she was simply being more observant. They appeared in dark corners when she went out, observing humanity from a distance or, sometimes, managing to interact with it. Kirsty pretended she didn't see them, using mirrors or her peripheral vision whenever they were near. Most of the time, she didn't need to use her eyes to know that they were nearby. A cool wind would blow and the lights would flicker, her skin would fill near to bursting. All of this to the complete ignorance of everyone around her.

Riding the train home from work, Kirsty caught a pair of females drooling over a businessman. They hung over him, reading his thoughts and running unfelt hands over his jacket. Though he showed no outer indication that he knew the pair were there, Kirsty could sense his distraction. It was as if the Cenobites were fueling whatever ideas he was mulling silently, encouraging the thoughts. She had to turn away when they began to pull at his skin, twisting it. The sight sent unwanted thrills through her body, spiking the already simmering heat.

Stepping off the train, Kirsty turned and started the three block trek to her apartment. Her steps sounded loudly in her ear, her breath fanning out in front of her. Wrapping her coat around her body tighter, Kirsty kept her eyes down. She didn't want anyone to see the building tension in her body. The last few weeks had been embarrassing enough, having to change her underwear several times a day and waking up sweating with her hands between her legs. Nothing seemed to work, nothing satisfied her. Every attempt was met with resurgence after only a short refractory period. Kirsty had started to plan vengeance, stopping short when her plan began to look like something he might actually enjoy.

Blowing out a breath, Kirsty shook her head. She had almost managed to go two whole hours without thinking of her own personal demon-clearly, a record in her waking life. Her unconscious had been filled with the soft clang of his tool belt and the winding tunnels she was now memorizing. Her dreams were always the same, the same path to the center where Leviathan spun ominously.

Keying into her apartment, Kirsty rested against the door, sighing in relief. She disrobed as she walked across the living room, leaving a trail of clothes in her wake. Naked by the time she made it to the shower, she spun the water on and stepped inside. Unable to get the water temperature quite right, Kirsty alternated between searing heat and freezing cold. She went through the basics of her routine, shaking and feeling like she would burst through her own skin.

When, at last, she twisted the faucet off, she was startled to hear the distinct clanging of chains in her little bathroom. Feeling panic rise, Kirsty grabbed her towel, wrapping it around her body tightly. She peered out of the shower, her eyes flicking from side to side. Though there looked to be nothing amiss, the steady sound of swaying metal remained. Carefully, Kirsty stepped barefoot out of the tub and out into the hallway. It lengthened with every step, darkening by the second. Brows drawing together, Kirsty inhaled deeply and stepped on, her carpet bleeding away into cool, smooth stone.

A turn that should have brought her to her living room took her into the heart of the labyrinth, a dungeon lined with barred doors. She walked gingerly forward, feeling her hair drip down her back, water falling to the ground. With the exception of the metallic tinkling, the little droplets smacking onto the stone were the only sound and they boomed in the silence. The cells along the way were lit from the inside, their occupants pacing back and forth. Faces of nightmares, agitated and waiting, barely noticed her.

She peered in each cell, recognizing them for what they were and moving on. The cells were not bare, rather luxurious in their making. Each Cenobite had their own furnishings and, in a way, their own dark style. Furniture that wrapped in gothic patterns sat atop rugs that, despite being blood spattered, looked spun from threads of gold. The walls sometimes had tapestries, sometimes artwork that pictured an amalgamation of the beautiful and the grotesque. One defining feature of every room was the tools on display. Some hung from the ceiling, others on cushions of scarlet. She caught one sharpening a blade with sure, concentrated strokes. Clearly, they took great care in their trade, their weapons acting as trophies.

Kirsty neared the end of the hall, her curious eyes skittering through the bars. He sat on a high backed chair, knees splayed wide, fist under his chin as he thought. Kirsty bit her lip, feeling like a voyeur and unable to stop herself. She wrapped a hand around one of the tepid bars, squinting into the darkness to get a better look. The room was wide and very open, the ceiling so high that she couldn't quite make it out clearly. His chair was pulled away from a large marble desk that dominated the space, papers stacked in neat little piles. On the far wall, she could see the vast array of his weapons hanging on hooks. They gleamed silver and metallic black in the low lighting and Kirsty found that she wasn't quite as afraid of them as she might have been before. To the right was an unmade bed. She was surprised to see that the mattress looked soft, comfortable.

Kirsty hadn't thought that the Cenobites actually slept. Her vague thoughts had settled long ago into a kind of hibernation between visits to the human world. The fact that they were locked in cells hadn't occurred to her in the least, not when he seemed to have free reign of the halls during her previous visits. Gently, she brushed her hand over the lock, testing its give.

The sound of her finagling drew his attention, his black eyes flashing to the door. Awkwardly, Kirsty waved, knowing that she looked ridiculous standing there sopping like a drowned rat. He didn't move for a moment, looking as if he were trying to figure out if she were real. Ever so slowly, he stood, leather falling in heavy draping around him as he moved.

"How did you come here?" He demanded, footsteps picking up speed.

Kirsty shrugged, "I took a shower."

Eyes trailed down the length of her body, forcing a shiver to rocket down her spine and settle low in her body. Kirsty shifted on her feet, feeling a blush creep over her face, neck, and chest.

"I can see that," he replied.

The blush deepened, trailing down over her shoulders. He followed the path with his eyes, a small smirk playing subtly across his mouth. Hands behind his back, his straightened a little, shoulders lifting minutely.

"Did you enjoy my gift?" He asked with a hint of humor.

She hissed, baring her teeth, angry despite the rise in adrenaline and arousal. He _knew_ what he was doing and he was enjoying it far too much.

"Did you know it would stay with me like this?"

Though his expression didn't change from the self satisfied smirk, she could tell that he wanted to laugh.

"You seemed to enjoy it so much that I thought I would extend the experience," he rumbled, the timbre of her voice laced with undertone. It sank into her skin, warming her from the inside out.

Kirsty did, in fact, enjoy it. Her sex drive hadn't been this active since her early adulthood and, despite the unbearable discomfort she sometimes felt, the pleasure had been just as good. She would be damned if she let him know that, though. Her sense of victory and pride had been damaged in their last round of the game and she wasn't quite ready to accept defeat.

Swallowing, Kirsty cocked out a hip and lifted a brow, "I wouldn't give you the satisfaction."

"Oh, Kirsty," he said in a way that made her want to back away quickly. "I assure you that the sight of your pleasure was very satisfying. As was the sight of your pained struggle to deny it."

With the speed and accuracy of a snake, he reaching out and grabbed the towel, curling the material between his fingers. Kirsty held tight even as he pulled her forward to push against the bars so hard that she knew her hips would have bruises the next day.

"After all these years, you still fight me. Wouldn't surrender be so much easier?"

She smiled, "Probably. You can't tell me that in all _your _years you haven't grown bored with willing supplicants. Pitiful little writhing beasts can't compare to a challenge."

Kirsty didn't know where all the fight had come from, where the urge to taunt him mercilessly had emerged. The bars between them, secure enough that he hadn't yet broken the lock, gave her the confidence she needed to maintain the façade of courage. Her heart was pounding and her skin felt too tight. The hands that clenched the towel shook with pent up energy.

"You have always been a worthy adversary," he breathed.

Kirsty opened her mouth to shoot off another snarky reply, only to have her head pulled back by the ends of her hair. His hands, slipped a little before adjusting to hold her forearms against the bars. In the blur that had become her vision, she could see the shock written across his face. The cold metal of a blade pressed against the edge of her throat, pressing ever deeper.

"Mind your tongue," came the voice of the female with the split head.

"Angelique," he yelled with authority that should have stopped the Cenobite at her throat.

Instead, the blade sliced through her skin, spilling forth her blood onto her bare chest and the towel. Kirsty felt it well up in her throat, drowning her. Sounds of death gurgled from her lips even as her vision went black.

Shooting up from the couch, Kirsty inhaled so deeply that her chest began to hurt. Her ears were ringing and her face and arms were covered in sweat. Crumpling to the floor, Kirsty dropped her head into her hands and screamed. The feeling of her blood flowing from her body and the blade digging into her skimmed across her mind in an endless loop, the pinned one's surprise flashing between her own shock and the sound of Angelique's voice growling in her ear.

Belatedly, she realized that the ringing in her ears was actually the phone. Sniffing back the tears, she answered it.

"Hello?" Another prank call.

Kirsty threw the phone across the room, lying out on the floor. Still shaking from her pseudo-death, Kirsty stared at the ceiling. Her body was on high alert, swollen and reacting to every shift in the air. Almost too tired to care, Kirsty groaned and rolled to her side, holding her stomach. She pressed her face into the carpet and tried to breathe.

The phone rang against and Kirsty glared at it from her position on the floor. It rang for almost a full minute before she crawled over and grabbed, jabbing the button with her finger.

"Listen, you little shit," she growled.

"Whoa, whoa," came Lucas' voice. "You alright there, Kirsty?"

Letting out a breath, she apologized, "I'm sorry."

"No problem," Lucas replied with a laugh in his voice that made Kirsty want to dig her nails into her own palm. "I was just wondering if you wanted to have dinner."

She was tempted to say no, to hole up in her house until she managed to work through whatever fucked up psychotic break down she was having. But, a niggling part of her longed for a sense of normalcy. And, an even deeper part of her wanted to get back at the pinned one for letting Angelique slice open her throat, even in a dream.

Feeling vicious, she said, "Sure. Let's go."

The restaurant was swanky, low lit, and expensive. Kirsty had to admit that she was impressed. As she sipped from her wine glass and adjusted the hem on her dress so that it sat a little lower on her thighs, she tried to focus on Lucas' story. He was talking about an art showing he'd attended that afternoon and, as much as Kirsty liked art, it was boring her to death. She looked at him, trying to figure out why.

Lucas was good looking, moderately successful, and he paid attention to her, remembering conversations that she didn't even know they had. She really wanted to like him, wanted to let him take her out and try to woo her. But, to her horror, she found herself noting how easy it would be to lure him in and toy with him. Knowing that he wanted her was amusing, but knowing that she could use that desire was far more enticing.

They made it through dinner and out onto the highway before he could quite work up the courage to ask her to continue the night at his place. Shy, and half stuttering, he rubbed at the back of his neck while he waited for her answer. Kirsty considered it, thinking that she might enjoy spending the night with him. She hesitated, knowing that she was inviting trouble if she accepted.

"Maybe another time," she said. "I'm a little tired."

Lucas smiled gently, "That's fine. I'll take you home."

He walked her to her door, hands in the pockets of his pants. She could tell that he wanted to kiss her, but her guilt for leading him on had grown during the drive home and Kirsty just wanted to get inside and pretend like she hadn't sunk so low.

"Thank you, Lucas," she said. "I had a nice time. Good night."

As she turned to key into her house, Kirsty was caught off guard by the blow that glanced off her head, sending her to the ground. A second blow sent her into semi-unconsciousness, thinking that it was really odd that Lucas hadn't cried out to warn her of the attacker. Despite being unable to move or speak, she could feel her body lift and roll over someone's shoulder, her hair falling around her face. It wasn't until she was thrown into some kind of box that Kirsty completely blacked out.

She woke later, curled on her side, her knees scraping against wood. Immediately, she kicked out, her hands reaching out to feel the space. When it became clear that she was locked quite securely, she sighed and dropped her head several times to the bottom of the box. Realizing that she had once more been caught in the web of another man's master plan to hurt her, Kirsty berated herself on her gullibility. For the third time in her, life she had been leashed by a man and it chafed to realize that she had once thought she had the upper hand.

Footsteps neared the box and Kirsty tensed, her body ready coiled, ready. The locked jiggled next to her ear, the lid lifting very slowly. Blinded by the light, she squinted down the barrel of a gun. Lucas' arm extended, his wrist flicking upwards.

"Get up, step out, sit in the chair," he demanded, voice changed from the soft, sincere tone she knew.

Kirsty, with her brows pulled together and her mouth turned down into a deep frown, used the lip of the box to pull herself up. She stepped out, noticing that her heels had been removed and that her legs were bare, hose long gone. The wood floor was warm, shining, and very slightly disorienting. Lucas indicated a chair with a quick movement of the gun. She sat, her hands resting on her knees and her eyes shooting him her nastiest look.

"Don't move."

Reaching to his left, Lucas lifted a rope from the dining room table and left it fall open into a loop. Kirsty watched in disgust as he looped it into a lasso, flicking it over her body. When she realized what he was doing, she tried to rise, managing to get a few feet away before Lucas tightened the knot and sent her to her knees. Another blow to the head left her sprawled awkwardly on her stomach, her elbows pulled into her abdomen. She groaned and tried to rise, Lucas' foot pressing hard into the small of her back.

She ended out with her hands and her feet tied together and belt between her teeth. Lucas worked with clinical precision, forgoing the chair to let her lie on the floor. Kirsty watched him, working hard to rectify the differences in her perception of him and this strange reality. His face was cold now, the smile gone, replaced by sharp indifference. She might have mourned the loss of her friend if her rage wasn't spiraling in reaction to the revelation that he was no different than her uncle or Trevor.

From Kirsty's vantage point, it seemed like Lucas was preparing for something, chalk outlines drawn in a crossed square and candles lit in the corners. It wasn't until he reached into his box of supplies and pulled a familiar box from the depths that she began to struggle. Kicking, screaming through the gag, and flopping around like a dying fish, Kirsty tried to get his attention and to prevent what she knew was coming. Lucas, however, was completely enamored with the box, his eyes glazing with dark intent.

He moved to sit in the middle of the chalked pattern, dropping slowly to his knees. She could see sweat beading on his brow and dropping down to moisten the collar of his button up shirt. Kirsty remembered that she had liked the color, thinking that it set off the blue of his eyes quite nicely. Now, in the candlelight, those same eyes looked half crazed and delirious. She scooted over, using her tied legs to knock over one of the candles, rubbing her bare feet against the wood to mar the chalk. It wouldn't do a bit of good if he solved the puzzle box, but he didn't know that.

Angry, Lucas set the box aside and grabbed the ropes criss-crossing her body, hauling her several feet away and throwing her to the ground. She felt her bones hit the wood, her nerves set on fire with pain. He grabbed a decorative sphere from a basket on the side table and slammed it down onto her temple, the glass breaking and slicing her skin. She could feel the blood slip through the cut and drip down her cheeks and across her eyes and nose.

"Not another move," he growled. Then, leaning down, he added, "You can't stop this."

Ashamed of the tears mixing with the blood on her face, Kirsty jerked to the side, her vision spinning with the movement. Concussed and wanted to vomit, Kirsty felt her consciousness flow in and out as she fought to focus. Lucas retraced his drawings and lit the knocked over candle, returning to his kneeling position on the floor. It didn't take long from there for him to figure out the box's secrets and to start drawing the familiar pattern on the sides. Kirsty groaned, knowing what was coming and unsure of how she felt about it.

The lights flickered, a blue cast falling over the room. Wind whisked from one corner to the other and a door opened near the dining room table. Kirsty breathed hard, biting deeply into the leather of the belt as she tried not to panic. In the shadows, a form stepped forth, mist floating around their feet. A female, thin, sick looking, and disfigured looked down on Lucas with interest. He was still clutching the box, skin white around the knuckles. Kirsty looked forward to when that same skin was falling in wet splats onto the ground.

Another, taller female entered the room, her blade already drawn. The skin around her forearms was torn away in a ghastly mimic of opera gloves. Her throat was splayed open, smoking softly. Kirsty narrowed her eyes, keeping her movements slow as she inched away. For now, their attention was on Lucas as their supplicant and she might be able to slink into retreat if he kept things interesting for them. They advanced, and, in surprising turn of events, Lucas held up his hands and begged for them to wait.

"I wish to speak with your leader," he said quickly, desperately. "I have something for him."

The first female lifted an upturned and scarred brow, her pierced face twisting in amusement, "What do you have that he could possibly want?"

Lucas gestured to Kirsty and, out of reflex, she struggled backwards. Their eyes were black as they looked at her, covered in blood and shaking like a scared animal. Bound and gagged as she was, Kirsty thought she might make a delight treat for them. So vulnerable. So seemingly petrified.

"She is Kirsty Cotton. The one who escaped you," Lucas explained, rising. "I have captured her for him."

Kirsty might have rolled her eyes if she weren't shooting Lucas her best death glare, working through in her mind which bone to break when she got free. The females looked at one another, approaching curiously.

"I sense truth in his words, sister," one said to the other.

"Yes. Call for him. I believe he will want to congratulate our new pet."

Kirsty watched as one of the females sauntered over to the opening and, with a voice loud enough that it hurt her ears, called out, "Xipe Totec. You are needed."

She turned around and returned to her place next to the other Cenobite, her expression unreadable. For a while, nothing happened, nothing moved in the house. Lucas moved to stand and was slapped back down to the floor where he dropped to his elbows and remained. Kirsty could do nothing but listen to the sound of her heart pounding in her ears, her breath pushing past the belt in uneven gasps. Her hip hurt, her head hurt, her vision blurred occasionally. In summation, she was having a shitty night, but when a familiar form angled through the opening, she thought that it would either get much better or a hell of a lot worse. One interesting note for the evening was that she finally knew his name, could call him by it instead of thinking of him as the pinned demon. She couldn't say that the name fit him as she had no understanding of what it meant to his culture, but it was nice to know all the same.

"You called?" he pronounced, looking to his soldiers.

"My lord," one of them said, "The human says he has something for you."

Disdainful black eyes dropped low, a sneer apparent on his thin, bluish lips. "Well?"

Lucas pulled himself upright and put his hands together in a mocking symbol of prayer, "Master, I bring you an offering, that you might bless me."

If Kirsty hadn't been concussed and half delirious, she might have laughed. Instead, she managed a roll of her eyes and a disgusted expression. Lucas held out a palm, indicating her curled form on the floor. The millisecond it took for Xipe to turn and see her seemed to last an eternity, Kirsty wondering if he would laugh at her distress, her shame rising like the tide in her belly. His gaze was impenetrable, but assessing. He took his time looking at the bindings and that gash on her temple, the dress that would have been modest in any other setting shoved up near her hips, her bare feet. She let him look, daring him to comment, to poke fun, or cajole her.

"You bring me what I already have," he said, looking down at Lucas.

Lucas blinked, "She lives in this world, Master. She escaped."

With a condescending lift of his brows, Xipe replied, "I let her go. Kirsty Cotton will come to me of her own doing, not delivered to my doorstep as a bribe for leniency."

Kirsty could tell that he was angry, though there were no outward signs. There was simply something in the way he spoke, the way his already still body went colder, unmoving as a statue. He exuded steely indifference lit from within by unimaginable rage. It unsettled her that she was enjoying it so much.

Lucas stood and made his way over to Kirsty, leaning down to pull her upright by her hair. She let out a yelp as his palm brushed the gash on her head, her tears stinging with unwanted tears of pain.

"Look at her," he cried, voice manic. "Look at the bounty before you, such vulnerable flesh. I give her to you freely."

Xipe circled them, a predator on the hunt, "You cannot give what is not yours. She belongs to me, has belonged to me for many years. You have no bargaining chip to put on the table and the game is over. Face your fate."

At this, the two females moved forward in simultaneous motion, their blades already unsheathed and ready. Lucas, sensing his defeat, let go of Kirsty's hair and tried to run. He was impaled by a chain that sunk so deep into his flesh that Kirsty could see the splatter of blood burst forth from the other side. Dragged halfway across the room, Lucas struggled, earning more chains, more hooks into his tender skin.

Resting on her back, Kirsty stared at the wandering ceiling, trying to keep her breath still and even. Xipe towered over her, a smirk on his face, the pins shining in the dim light.

"Kirsty," he said, stooping low to crouch next to her. "When will you learn not to trust the men in your life?"

Unable to answer, Kirsty simply shrugged, letting her gaze fall to the curved blade in his right hand. With the precision of a surgeon, he sliced through the ropes at her hands and feet, the blade cutting the belt in her mouth like so much warm butter. Kirsty worked her jaw and sat up, wiping away the blood that coated her face. At least the wound had clotted and she wasn't bleeding freely, but her dress was ruined and her face felt sticky and dry. She was sure that she was wearing a scarlet mask of the stuff, a frightful sight to any sane person.

He helped her to standing, letting her lean against him while her head worked to stop swimming. Lucas watched from his spot on the floor, the females speaking lowly to decide how to mutilate him. She glared, knowing that his punishment was going to be more than enough and half wishing that Xipe would just tear him apart like he'd done her uncle. But, to each supplicant their own, and Lucas would learn just how dark the secrets of the Cenobites ran.

"Would you like to watch?" Xipe asked, voice even.

Kirsty's brows lifted in interest, her mind flying with visions of what Lucas' torture might entail. Beside her, Xipe laughed, the smile reaching his eyes.

"How your mind flies," he commented lightly. "Shall we enact some of those?"

Kirsty scoffed, "We've talked about you staying out of my head."

"Yes," he said with a soft lilt, "But I believe I explained that I could not see to your desires without entering your mind."

From the ground, an incredulous gasp interrupted their conversation. "That's why he keeps you alive," Lucas said. "You're fucking him."

The shock that Kirsty felt would not be able to match the fierce anger that rolled in right after it. The implication that she survived by anything but the skin of her teeth was, quite frankly, insulting. She felt her lips pull back, baring her teeth. Her fists clenched in impotent rage, spine straightening and her vision clearing. A foot away, Xipe exuded cool fire, disdainful and filled with judgment. The females halted their conversation and looked to their lord, awaiting his command.

"Shall we begin," he commanded, more than asked.

The two females smiled in joy, leaning down to make the first cuts. Kirsty, out of reflex, looked away and took a step back, suddenly not wanting to be a part of the experience.

"Still running away?"

Kirsty froze, her stubbornness refusing to allow him even a little leeway with which to chastise her, "I told you, I'm done running."  
"Are you now?" He rumbled, approaching.

Against her will, Kirsty's feet led her backwards into the wall, her palms pressing against the glossy paint. Sound of Lucas' torture reached her ears, but she could not tear her eyes away from the ghostly face of Xipe Totec. He moved with efficient grace, until he was once more blocking her in completely.

"It still amazes me how much you refuse to obey me."

She tossed her head, "You have no power over me."

The smallest little smirk let her know that she was, indeed, in big trouble. "Do I not?"

Two chains flashed out of nowhere, hooking into her mid thighs and pulling ever so gently. She yelled, hips turning out and knees bending to relieve the pressure. He observed without the cool indifference she was used to, his expression reminding her of their time in the depth of the labyrinth, burning from within.

"I can tear you apart and put you back together, over and over, for a millennia," he murmured near her ear. "I can reap your soul from the inside out in half a second."

Kirsty gritted her teeth, "An empty victory."

"Unfortunately," he drawled lazily, "Yes."

One pale hand came up to touch her wound, fingers drawn back coated in her blood. He brought the digits to his lips, tongue peeking out to taste. Kirsty might have found the time to find the action repulsive if she weren't suddenly fascinated with the piercings lining the muscle. There were several, lined in a geometric pattern that could not be possible on a living thing. It surprised her further that they were jewel topped, catching the candlelight.

Catching her interest, Xipe cupped her neck, squeezing just enough to stem the flow of her air, "Imagine it, Kirsty. Pain and pleasure, indecipherable. Eternally."

The spell he'd cast while she lay writhing on the stone altar in the deep hall of hell, which had abated for most of the evening, surged forth and she felt her eyes roll back. Kirsty tried to bow backwards, blocked by the wall, her skin coming alive with sensation that left her dazed. Xipe traced down the middle of her chest, stopping just short of the neckline on her dress. The cut was high, revealing very little of her décolletage, but even her collarbones were sensitive and reacting to the feeling of the pads of his fingers drawing so slowly along the bone and cartilage.

Kirsty caught the first squish of muscle plopping to the ground and, unwillingly, her eyes flicked to the side. Lucas' thigh was rendered useless, the tendons cut and pulsing on the floor. He groaned around blade in his mouth, blood coating his throat and chest. She closed her eyes, memories and long ingrained fear resurfacing.

Xipe caught her chin and turned her back to him, "Focus, Kirsty."

"On what?" She shot back, eyes narrow and challenging.

"On me," he replied, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. Hands circled her waist, arching her spine and pushing her shoulder blades backwards.

With a sigh, she let him bend her to his will, body going soft and pliable. Cool lips pressed to the skin under her chin, pins grazing softly. Kirsty's nails raked the wall, palms sweating and knees working hard to hold her aloft. Even the feeling of her pierced skin was dulled in comparison to his mouth working its way around her jaw line to the skin behind her ears. Her breath left her in a rush when his teeth bit down hard, her hips rotating. Even though the pain was in the forefront of the experience, the pleasure seemed to ride along with it, taking turns overwhelming her.

When he finally kissed her, she fulfilled the wish she hadn't known she'd had, her tongue reaching out to trace along the line of piercings, reveling in the difference. They scraped at her, the jewels sharply cut. She winced when one sliced through her flesh, the copper taste of blood touching the edges of the kiss. The chains at her thighs pulled in response, forcing a hiss from between her lips. She retaliated by taking her nails and digging them into the open wounds on his chest.

He growled, nearly tackling her into the wall, hands gripping her too hard and pulling her upwards. His thighs pushed between hers, forcing her to drape them over his calves, half supported by his arms and half supported by the chains. Adrenaline rushed through her, consumed by the kiss and the feeling of his hands ripping at her, bruising. She kept up, pulling at whatever she could reach, holding him close and letting his pins leave cuts in her flesh.

Kirsty felt it build, her hips rolling, seeking and finding the friction she needed. She gloried in the slick slide of leather and the congealing blood on her hands. He groaned into the torn skin of her neck, rearing back and slamming her into the wall, her head connecting hard. She held on, knowing that she was nearing release and relishing the fight between them for dominance. Kirsty would best him again, she would win this game like she had won all the last, in one way or another. She would always be the victor, whether he liked it or not. In a breathless gasp, Kirsty came, her body falling lax in relief. Sweat dripped down, mingling with the blood, the burn bringing on the aftershocks.

Belatedly, Kirsty realized that he was still hard against her, hands gripping her thighs. She glanced up at him in question. He was looking at her as he never had before, with anticipation clearly written across his face, powerful adoration in his eyes. She was awestruck by it; stunned by the emotion she could see overcoming his many barriers. Not even the screams from mere feet away could penetrate the way he entrapped her.

"What?" she whispered, hands clutching his shoulders.

"Give in," he urged with a shake to her body. "Let me explore you for the rest of time."

Kirsty felt something release in a way that an orgasm could never touch, her will flowing away like the blood dripping off her toes to the floor. She bit her lip, ignoring the final slice that sent Lucas to death. The future loomed ahead, teasing her with the truths of its pleasure and pain. There was no right or wrong, just the journey to the extreme horizons before her. He would be her anchor in this new world with its strange and unearthly delights, and, just once, Kirsty wanted to indulge.

"Okay."

**So that's it. Just a little something to clear the way for the next work. **


End file.
